


Children in the Walls

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: Character Study, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, cw: yumea being yumea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27613790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: The years go by. Tyrea continues to discard pieces of herself until she’s not even sure what’s left.
Relationships: Melia Antiqua & Tyrea
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	Children in the Walls

**Author's Note:**

> it's sad bird hours!!! feat. the whole antiqua family except sorean because he's busy and i couldn't figure out how to work him into this piece.
> 
> it's a little disjointed but so are my braincells
> 
> edit 12/1/20: moved some parts around, nothing new added

There are no stories in the Bionite Order.

But there are exaggerated accounts of its abolishment, which a few of the younger scouts will sometimes whisper to one another for the sake of entertainment during idle nights. Everyone knows that the Bionite Order had been nearly wiped out by Emperor Lumian (very unsuccessfully) but they say— they say that the Emperor had buried some of the Inquisitors in the walls of the Palace, as a warning to those who refused to lay down their masks. Young women, trapped in the shadows of shadows, who would never see the sunlight again.

They say that on some moonless nights, one might hear their vengeful wailing deep within the unused passageways carved out by the Bionite Order.

Tyrea tells herself that she doesn't believe in any of those stories. She only believes in the First Consort.

* * *

A new princess has been born: that is what those of the Bionite Order are saying, murmuring lowly as if they’d rather avoid being overheard. They say she is not of pure blood, that the Emperor remained true to that old secret tradition of taking on a Homs consort, and their murmurs grow silent as their eyes fall on the woman and child entering the room. They cast long shadows across the walls.

The First Consort cannot deny the rumors nor pretend that she’s oblivious. It’s true, then. The princess of the High Entia has the blood of a Homs in her veins. Yumea keeps her head high, walking past the whisperers with Tyrea trailing along behind her.

Tyrea cannot quash her curiosity. She’s young and foolish enough to ask, “Would the new princess be my sister?”

The sound of Yumea’s palm cracking across Tyrea’s face echoes through the vast chamber. All those whisperers, witness to Tyrea’s terrible question, do not react. Tyrea touches the spot where she’d been slapped, stunned but not surprised.

“Tell me. Is the Emperor your father?”

“No, First Consort.”

“And do you think I gave birth to that half-blooded wretch?”

“No, First Consort.”

“Then she is not your sister. Don’t you dare ever suggest such a thing again.”

Tyrea nods. She tastes blood on the inside of her cheek but says nothing about it. “Yes, First Consort.”

* * *

She learns to crush the pieces of herself that won’t fit into Yumea’s dream. Be rid of the unnecessary things. There’s no room for childish sorrows or lofty dreams within the walls of the Bionite Order.

Carelessness, too, has no role in her position. Yet she slips anyway, caught one evening in the moonlight by her wrist, a warm hand stopping her from darting back into the secret passageway she’d come from after delivering her report to the First Consort.

Prince Kallian stares at her, brows furrowed in bemusement. He’d grown taller since the last time Tyrea had caught a glimpse of him. He’s lanky and wiry, swallowed up by his robes and his wings almost comically too large for his head, but they’re telling of the great man he’ll one day become. Tyrea feels so small in his presence.

“You’re not one of the maidservants.”

Tyrea keeps her mouth shut. She weakly tries to pull herself away just once, and then considers kicking him to the ground, but this is the _Crown Prince_ and Yumea would be beyond furious if she learned that Tyrea dared to lay a finger upon him. So she stays still like a tensed animal, ready to spring the moment his grip loosens. It doesn’t. Kallian makes an impatient noise after a few moments of silence.

“What’s the matter with you? Has guilt robbed you of your voice?”

“I—“ Tyrea stammers out, grateful for her mask hiding her face,” —am none of your business.”

Kallian clicks his tongue. “A thief, then. No…”

His eyes dart down to the katars at her sides.

“An assassin.”

“I’m not!” Technically, yes. She wills her voice to stop wavering. Damnit. She can’t do anything to him because he’s the damn Prince. All she can do is stand here with her wrist caught in his grip and pray that no guards come down this way.

She shudders to think of what Yumea— of what the Bionite Order would do to her, if her existence were to be revealed to Emperor Sorean.

Kallian rubs his chin in thought. “Well, if you were an assassin, you would have sliced my throat by now. And for a supposed assassin you’re not being terribly discreet. Who are you, then?”

Tyrea holds very, very still as Kallian slowly reaches out to take ahold of her mask.

“Kallian?”

Yumea is striding over, heels clacking against the marble floor. No, oh no, no, no. Tyrea’s blood freezes and now her legs are shaking, but Yumea’s gaze is only fixed upon Kallian as if she’s not even there. “Darling, what are you doing out of bed?”

“I thought I would sneak into the kitchens for a glass of something sweet,” Kallian readily admits, his grip still tight around Tyrea’s wrist. He tilts his head toward her. “But it seems I’m not the only one skulking about the palace at strange hours.”

When Yumea looks at her, Tyrea sees no fury in her eyes. Instead, Yumea seamlessly feigns surprise and a lack of recognition, covering her mouth with her sleeve and raising her brows. Somehow, that’s even more terrifying than what Tyrea had expected. Her throat goes completely dry and it takes all her willpower not to crumble on the spot.

“Have you found yourself a new friend?”

“I’m not sure. I think she may be a thief. But those blades she carries… no ordinary bandit would hold such weapons. So I thought she may be an assassin, but she has had plenty of opportunities to attack me.”

“—Did she hurt you!?”

Tyrea very, very subtly shakes her head, too afraid to speak up in her own defense, but Kallian readily answers. Yumea may not have even seen Tyrea’s gesture.

“Not a scratch. She hasn’t even struggled to escape,” he says. He glances at Tyrea only for a split second; she wonders if he feels the way her wrist is trembling in his grasp. Maybe he does. Maybe that’s why he next says, “Mother, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to interrogate her myself. Something doesn’t feel right to me. Please don’t alert the guards.”

Something flashes across Yumea’s face— an utterly terrifying thing that sends Tyrea’s heartbeat pounding in her ears like a drum.

“Come to think of it… ah, yes— one of my maidservants had recently adopted a quaint young girl. Always wears a mask, prefers to roam at night, very odd all around. This is the one, for certain.” A false smile is plastered on Yumea’s face. “I’ve been told she’s rather shy, you see. I’m sorry if she caused you any alarm. Darling, why don’t you go back to bed now? I’ll take care of her from here.”

Kallian is still holding onto her wrist. He hesitates. “… Are you sure, Mother?”

“Of course. I’ll speak to Yewa about disciplining her girl. She can’t expect to be a proper mother if her child is lurking around the Palace where she shouldn’t be.”

Yumea stares directly at Tyrea now.

“Isn’t that right?”

Tyrea finds her voice, only for a moment: “… Yes, First Consort.”

She wants to cry out at Kallian to just take her away for an interrogation, but her throat is closed up again. That would be… an unforgivable breach of loyalty. She can’t, can’t do that, can’t ever do anything like that, can’t break the Bionite Order’s secrecy. Can’t. Can’t. Can’t. She would rather die than betray them. That is how it is supposed to be.

Yumea’s hand is icy cold compared to Kallian’s warm grip. Kallian stands there and watches as Yumea leads Tyrea away, until their footsteps are out of earshot.

* * *

If Kallian is the First Consort’s son, then that means he would be her half-brother. She comes to this realization only a couple days after that harrowing encounter, and wonders why she had never even thought of it before.

Yumea no longer has her come to her quarters to deliver reports. Instead, Yumea meets Tyrea in the walls of the palace where no one can see or hear them. She won’t allow Tyrea to make a careless mistake like that ever again. Maybe she will be allowed to move around freely again in a few decades, once she has furthered her training and honed her skills, but that time won't come anytime soon.

A part of her wants to ask about Prince Kallian being her brother, but Tyrea crushes it without a second thought. That piece won’t fit into Yumea’s vision for the future.

* * *

The years go by. Tyrea continues to discard pieces of herself until she’s not even sure what’s left.

* * *

She watches from an unseen perch, completely powerless to do anything as Kallian condemns their mother to the Tower of Interrogation for the crime of treason and plotting the assassination of Princess Melia. Four guards stand ready to take ahold of her arms (“Don’t touch me!”) and escort her away. Tyrea’s nails dig through her gloves until she can almost feel them in the skin of her palm. Her knuckles are painfully taut.

Kallian had been unwavering during the entire sentencing, but now his eyes soften. He doesn’t remember the harsh woman Tyrea is familiar with, he has fond memories of the stern but affectionate woman she had been before Melia was born. Before Tyrea was born.

It was a very long time ago. No one else would have bothered remembering that version of Yumea.

“Mother…”

“I only did what was best for our people!” Yumea says, teeth bared. She tries to wrench her arms away from the guards again. “For _you_ , Kallian!”

Kallian heavily sighs. “You’ve lost your vision, Mother. How long have you been blind? Why was I unable to help you?”

“How could you say that to me?!”

He glances around the room. The guards’ faces are hidden beneath their helms, and the statesmen who stand witness look away out of some final respect for the disgraced First Consort. He apparently reconsiders asking for any privacy. Tyrea can hear every word he says from where she’s hidden.

“Nearly seventy years ago, I encountered a masked girl who you claimed to be a maidservant’s daughter. Do you remember that night?”

Yumea stops struggling.

“You said you would ‘take care of her’ when I suggested that I would personally interrogate her… but I never saw her again.”

The air grows heavy with tension and charged ether. Yumea’s face twists, first in protest, then in despair, but not in despair for burying that girl in the walls. Tyrea narrows her eyes.

“Who was she? What happened to her?! Answer me!”

“… She was nobody you needed to know about.”

That dead, long-gone part of Tyrea would have cried out, _I am your sister. Your other sister,_ but it never crosses her mind now. The guards lead Yumea away; even as her own son turns his back to her, her head is held high. Tyrea retreats back into the shadows, already mapping out the passageways in her head to plan the fastest course into the Tower of Interrogation.

* * *

“Family” has no real meaning beyond loyalty and obedience. Or so she thought, until she met Teelan, and then slowly but surely— those pieces of herself began to return from where they had been lost within the shadows of the Imperial Palace. She doesn’t know what to do with those pieces. She only knows that she’s going to protect Teelan. So maybe that’s good enough.

Then Melia tries to call her a _sister_ , and Tyrea's first instinct is to react with visceral disgust and hatred. They don't share any common blood. How could they be sisters? Melia is no more a sister than Kallian had been a brother, and she only allows Teelan to address her as _Big Sis_ because he's so helpless and she doesn't have it in her to tell him to shut the hell up. 

So, no, they aren't sisters. They never have been and they never will be. 

That's what Yumea would say. Her words still haunt Tyrea, unrelenting and far away. She's afraid she might one day forget what her mother's voice sounds like; that fear keeps her up on some nights, putting her in a cold sweat when all she can think of is the Telethia's mournful death rattle. Don't forget. Mustn't forget. There's no one else who can fulfill Yumea's last wishes for the future. No one except... Melia. 

Tyrea isn't quite sure how to be at peace with that knowledge. She decides to swallow her ego and take that offered hand, vowing loyalty to the girl her mother once tried to kill. It's the least she could do when atonement is out of the question.

* * *

Once most of Alcamoth has been restored to a habitable state, Melia begins to draw plans for a monument. Nothing so grand that would take more than a dozen laborers or a couple months, but she wants it to be the new centerpiece of the Great Hall. That old relief of the Bionis and Mechonis in the fountain feels… unfitting, like it doesn’t belong there anymore. She and Tyrea stand before the stagnant water, staring at it.

“Perhaps we could commission an artisan to cover it,” Melia says, holding her chin in thought. “I unfortunately possess no portraits of his late Majesty, nor of my brother. I think… I would like to pay tribute to them in some way. Thoughts, Tyrea?”

“A statue of yourself would be more fitting.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“No,” she says rather curtly. “Plant a grave in your gardens if you want, but our people can’t look to the future if they’re constantly reminded of the past. Given your propensity for rushing into danger, leaving a monument of your deeds now may be prudent. Tsk, don’t give me that look. Maybe I am being sarcastic. Happy?”

“They were great men,” Melia says, her voice rather small now. She stares down into the water. Someone had already siphoned out most of the debris, but a layer of grime remains at the bottom. “Both of them. I owe my father and brother much more than a plot of flowers.”

Tyrea briefly closes her eyes. She wonders… what would have happened, if Kallian had been able to remove her mask that night. Would anything have changed at all?

“There was an old story passed among the younger ranks of the Bionite Order,” she says. Melia seems only slightly puzzled by the sudden veer in their conversation, but she remains quiet to allow Tyrea to continue. “The forty-seventh Emperor of the High Entia was exceptionally violent in his abolishment of the Order. Dozens of Inquisitors, barely out of their youth, had been buried in the walls of the Palace to warn the old followers who refused to bend the knee. I think that story was meant to give us some twisted sense of justification for our actions.”

“How terrible…”

“It’s not true, of course. Emperor Lumian wasn’t such a brute.”

Melia cranes her neck to look around them, at the towering pillars emblazoned with red stone and gold trimmings. She involuntarily shivers, gripping her forearms tightly against herself.

“But…” Tyrea says. She faintly smiles, staring at her distorted reflection in the gray water. “A part of me had always believed there were children in the walls, crying to be heard. They’re still in there. They don’t know how to get out.”


End file.
